


Smoke

by Theverity_01



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathrooms, Cigarettes, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Help, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Sectumsempra, Slow Burn, Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theverity_01/pseuds/Theverity_01
Summary: All Harry had actually wanted was a place to have a smoke, instead, he found a crying Darco Malfoy.Instead of "Sectumsempra", he said, "Want one?"And instead of "Get out Potter!", Draco Malfoy said "Yes."And so a friendship was born, though neither of them would ever call it that.





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> So I've previously posted a similar story to this one, that was meant to be two chapters long. After posting it, I realised, that I wasn't happy with the story that I was creating, as I felt it was too shallow and not detailed enough. That's why I've rewritten a few parts and have more chapters pre-written. I honestly don't know how long this story will be, but I guess you'll find out. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and kind comments on my last work, I'm really really sorry I never finished it, maybe I'll write an ending for it someday. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It started as a one-off, really. Harry Potter hadn't been walking around for very long, when he saw Duddly, his whale of a cousin, with his gang, all standing on the curb each, with a cigarette. 

 

He didn't think much of it and started to turn around, so his cousin didn't see him and tell his parents that Harry had snuck out when something hit his back. At first, the messy haired boy thought they'd seen him and turned around because trying to outrun them was futile at this point. Upon turning around though, he realized that what had hit him was an empty cigarette pack that a member of 'Big D's gang had carelessly thrown over their shoulder. Harry didn't really know why, but he bent down to retrieve the wayward package, perhaps he had intended to dispose of it. That was when he realized that it wasn't, as first presumed, empty, but in fact still had one sole cigarette in it, with a lighter. Harry had always thought Duddly and his gang were imbeciles, but he'd never thought they were this stupid.

 

As some form of petty revenge, possibly for a miserable childhood, the dark-haired boy stuffed it into his pocket and then continued walking back the way he came.

 

It wasn't until a few days later when he was feeling particularly depressed about Sirius’ death, that he took out the cigarette and lit it. Like most people and their first cigarette, he choked on the smoke, but he was nothing if not determined, so he kept at it. Sitting there, hours after the cigarette had been smoked to a stub, the pain was still numb, and Harry was feeling more awake and alive then he had all summer. That was when he decided he couldn't live without narcotics.

 

The rest of the summer was a blur, except for the nocturne hours he spent smoking. He still had plenty of pounds from when he went to Marks and Spencer's last year with Hermione, she had insisted he exchange at least 500 pounds worth of galleons, “because then you won't have to next year”. Next year's shopping trip never came though, because Harry had come back with a trophy and a corpse and a wish to speak with no one.

 

He didn't begrudge Hermione's insisting though, because now he had no problem using his money to buy cigarettes. And just before Dumbledore came to pick him up, he'd gone to his local off license and bought as many packs of cigarettes as the rest of his money would allow.

 

At the Wesley's Harry silently left the house most nights, to spend them smoking on a hill near St. Ottery.

 

He didn't spend the train ride following Malfoy, however mistrustful he was of him because he was desperately sucking the life out of his cigarette while Ron and Hermione were on their prefect duties.

 

At Hogwarts, he still spent his nights watching Malfoy, but this time he was in a deserted corridor or on a balcony smoking to keep awake while obsessing over the blond boy. Sometimes he even did homework then, his grades were better than ever, even if he did sleep through his first lesson (and breakfast) every day.

 

Occasionally Harry spent the nights crying his eyes out and smoking afterward to numb the pain.

 

And so, it came that when Harry walked in on Malfoy crying in Myrtle's bathroom, he was reminded of himself and his shameful twilight breakdowns. He reached for his cigarettes instead of his wand. When Malfoy threw his first curse, the chosen one didn’t even attempt to retaliate, instead fiddling around with his lighter, trying to light a cigarette. Before Malfoy could send another hex his way, he had already closed the door and was leaning against the wall smoking. Harry was honestly just done with the day and had previously been on the hunt for a place to have a fag before the whole Malfoy thing happened. All he wanted was a smoke, dealing with Malfoy made that a necessity. So instead of Sectumsempra, he said.

 

 ”Want one?”

 

And threw Malfoy his pack, the lighter inside.

 

Watching Draco Malfoy discover smoking was a very strange thing.

 

The pureblood had no idea what they were and spent the first few weeks calling them cig-thingies. Choke he did not though, for he was even more determined then Harry had been and when your school rival gave you some weird muggle thing along with some snide remark about how you won't be able to do it, you don't throw that chance away.

 

So, Draco Malfoy spent that night smoking cigarette after cigarette with Potter, instead of in the hospital wing.

 

That was how their friendship started, not that either of them would ever call it that.

 

At first, they just met up occasionally in the bathroom, as if by chance, even though nobody ever coincidentally meets in a bathroom. Then they started meeting up once a week at night, mostly in deserted corridors. By the time March came, Harry and Malfoy were getting together nightly to chain-smoke until morning. Sometimes when one of the boys actually fell asleep, the other was still there in the morning.

 

At first, they didn't speak, a silent comfort while Malfoy, and sometimes Harry broke down.

 

"I still don't believe you're not a death eater."

 

Those were Harry's first words to Malfoy since their late-night meetings had begun. They were spoken with trepidation and a hint of accusation. But somewhere, right in the depths of his voice, there was a tiny little _something_ , something that conveyed that Harry didn’t _really_ believe what he was saying.

 

Malfoy exhaled, smoke obscuring his face as he said nothing, looking straight ahead. Maybe if he had looked over to Harry, looked into his eyes, he wouldn’t have just heard that _something_ in his voice, he wouldn’t have actually seen it in Harry’s eyes. Bus alas, the blind man never sees.

 

After that Harry began to say that to him quite often, once or twice a week maybe. There was never any venom in his words, he only stated them so he himself didn't forget that they weren't actually friends and that Malfoy could hand him over at any time.

 

It changed one stormy night, Malfoy had burst into the bathroom (where they met before moving to some obscure part of the castle) and had a mental breakdown like never before. Harry, as awkward and inexperienced as he was, knew that he should comfort him. And so, taking a page out of Hermione’s book, he sat down on the floor next to Malfoy and put a hand on his knee, which the blond boy had pulled up against his chest. It wasn't much, but it spoke volumes.

 

And when Malfoy had calmed down and they were both smoking, Harry said.

 

"I still think you're a Death Eater."

 

This time Malfoy still didn't speak, but he reached out and unbuttoned his left sleeve, to reveal the Dark Mark on his forearm to his smoking buddy.

 

Harry thought about shouting and firing curses and accusing Malfoy of all the bad things that had been happening. Like Malfoy expected. He felt the rage rising up in him, the crushing weight of that _something_ being broken, he pictured Katie in the snow, Ron choking to death… By all means, he should have been _furious_.

 

…but he wasn’t, he hated to admit it, but the blond had grown on him, no matter what he thought of him, the idea of returning to smoking alone, to being along…to crying alone.

 

Somehow it all seemed quite unbearable.

 

"I guess I knew."

 

And then, because he was curious and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

And there, in that decrepit moldy bathroom, Malfoy told Harry everything, he didn't stop speaking until well after breakfast the next day, for neither had left when night became day.

 

Harry hadn't said a thing the whole time, but now all was quiet, and he felt he should at least say something to fill the silence. But he couldn’t think of anything, take a page out of Hermione’s book he may have before, but for life of him Harry couldn’t come up with a single meaningful thing to say. There was a stone in his throat and he couldn’t swallow it.

 

The silence lasted for what seemed like forever, stretching out to fill the ginormous bathroom.

 

After another eternity came Malfoy’s question, his voice was horse after speaking for so long and had a vulnerability to it that Harry had never heard before. “Are….are you going to go to Dumbledore?”

 

Somehow Harry just _knew_ that Malfoy’s mouth was dryer than a history lesson with Professor Binns. That strange feeling was overshadowed by the fact that Harry actually had no clue what he was going to do. What could he do? Go to Dumbledore? But he seemed supremely uninterested in the whole ordeal. Stay silent? Somehow that didn’t sit right with Harry.

 

“I haven’t a clue,” Harry replied with more honesty than he had in a long time.

 

Malfoy's head snapped up so fast his neck let out an alarming crack. His body was tense, betraying the look of nonchalance on his face.

 

"What do you mean Potter? Aren't you going to go to Dumbledore and tell him that I’m conspiring to kill him and have me expelled because I'm a…a Death Eater?", he’d started the sentence with rage in his voice, but by the end, he sounded every bit exhausted as he surely was.

 

Harry didn't answer as he sucked in a drag and slowly exhaled. He knew that if he hadn't spent months seeing how depressed Malfoy was and how unwilling he was to kill, he might have done just that, stun Malfoy and run to Dumbledore.

 

But he had.

 

Harry cared, he really did, but he was tired and not in the mood to think. His stomach reminded him what he hasn’t eaten in.., well he couldn’t remember the last time he sat in the great hall and had had a hearty meal. Sleeping through breakfast and skipping lunch and dinner most days was doing him no good whatsoever.

 

Malfoy exhaling beside him snapped him back to the present. “Honestly Malfoy? I reckon what we should do, is finish our cigarettes, go to our dorms and sleep for a bit.” Harry just knew that he was throwing away the chance of taking Malfoy to Dumbledore, of getting justice, of being able to say to Ron and Hermione “I told you so”. But he needed to think, to digest, to mull over Malfoy’s words, to think about all he had said.

 

A reply never came, Malfoy took drag after drag and after some time the last drag. He got up, held out his hand to Harry and helped him up. Malfoy was about to turn away and leave. When Harry got the overwhelming feeling that maybe he wasn’t taking it seriously enough, that maybe he should have gone straight to Dumbledore with him, maybe Harry had simply missed his chance. 

 

And this moment, this moment would be the _only_ moment he would ever have to rectify his actions. But that stone in his throat was back and he couldn’t think of anything.

 

And Malfoy was walking, walking away. He was nearly at the door, about to disappear, when Harry found his voice. He lurched forward as if he didn’t have any control over his body anymore, chasing after the blond boy. He put his Hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, probably with much more force than necessary, who turned to him.

 

For once Harry looked him in the eye, maintain contact. “Malfoy…we’ll manage….”, a thousand words went unsaid, but those that he did utter, were more or less exactly what Malfoy needed to hear.

 

One breath, two breaths, and the blond nodded, turning, he headed out of the door. Leaving Harry in the bathroom, alone.


End file.
